The Fugitive's Secret Child. Geri Krotow

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СКАЧАТЬ the connection. “Damn it, change of plans. Trina, you’re closest. I need you to get someone who’s in there, from another op. Damn these mixed comms!” Corey was obviously taking a call from another LEA.

      “Who, Corey?”

      “Hang on.” She heard another loud bang inside the building and the puppy jumped, moving away from her. Damn it! “Robert Bristol. Don’t come back without him.”

      “Got it.” And she’d get the man. There wasn’t time to ask Corey specifically who the man was, if he was wanted by the agents from another op, or was LEA himself. It’d all come out soon enough.

      She shot one last look at the door she’d surveyed. Was she going to have to go in there, after all? This Robert Bristol dude had better know she was going to get him. Looking around the building and the surrounding forest, she saw no one. Disappointment weighed on her. As she turned back toward the building, the door burst open and a hunched over yet ambulatory man barreled out amid a cloud of white smoke. Coughing as if he had TB, he appeared a little dazed. Tear gas. Crap.

      Trina drew her weapon and pointed it him. “Stop. Hands above your head.”

      The man complied, albeit stiffly. She watched his arms rise and noted his hands. Why were her eyes drawn to his hands? They were so familiar. As if she’d seen them, seen him before. She stared at his face. Her insides froze. Was this how it felt to lose your mind? How crazy felt? Because she felt like she was looking at a ghost.

      “Gotta go, boss.” She spoke into her mic, never taking her eyes off the man. The man who looked exactly like the man she’d given her heart to years ago. Justin Berger.

      “Trina, wait—” She yanked her earbuds and Corey’s voice out. She left her phone on, though. Headquarters would at least have a recording of whatever was about to go down. Hopefully it wasn’t her sanity.

      “Stay still. Identify yourself.”

      The man looked stunned as he turned toward her voice, arms raised. Tears streamed down his cheeks thanks to tear gas. They fell from dark eyes. That is, one of them was a dark brown, the other swollen to a narrow slit. His body, at least the parts visible to her, was unbelievably bruised. He wore only a T-shirt that had once been greenish but was filthy and torn, and his cargo pants were unzipped, and God, she could see his briefs and what should be tucked away inside his briefs.

      Acting on pure instinct born of years of training, she visually inspected him from head to toe, looking for weapons. Even if he had a weapon he appeared too battered to use it, but Trina knew no matter how much pain either a criminal trying to escape, or a trained agent was in, they’d figure out a way. She still wasn’t sure who this man was—friend or foe. Her orders were to get him but she’d rescued agents from tight spots before, under the guise of taking them into custody. She had to treat him as suspicious until either he proved he wasn’t, or Corey told her to trust him.

      “Keep your hands up and turn around.”

      He complied, and she swiftly approached him and patted him down. No weapons, but the way his pants fit him, the way his form was achingly familiar, had her wondering again if she was having some sort of psychotic break.

      He had an air about him that distracted her, made her think she knew him. She shook her head, her weapon still on him. Focus. She needed focus.

      “Turn around. Who the hell are you?” Her voice usually commanded response, but this man only stared after he turned around to face her. He lowered his arms.

      “Keep them up.”

      “You know I’m not armed. Look, our time is short—”

      “Who are you?”

      “Rob Bristol. Who the hell are you?” He was her last-minute target, after all. She forced out a breath.

      “US Marshal Lopez. You’re coming with me.”

      Gunfire erupted before he could reply, and “Rob” looked at her. Because she was beginning to feel that she wasn’t crazy. That this was Justin.

      “Who were you here for, Marshal? Originally?”

      She stared him down, refusing to answer. Was it hotter than she thought? Was she dehydrated? Because this man, this apparition in front of her, looked and sounded exactly like Justin.

      The ghost spoke. “I’m with the government, too. There are too many of them for us to handle.”

      Trina remained silent.

      “Let’s go before they kill us both.” His voice was taut and he’d obviously had the crap knocked out of him, but the tone, the way he measured each word even under pressure, it was unique. She’d only ever known one other man to act like this in the midst of a firefight.

      “I don’t suppose you have ID?” She’d never had to guess at whether she was taking in a good guy or not. They’d always been bad guys.

      “You’re kidding me, right? Look at me. I’ve had the crap knocked out of me.” The harsh words softened with a tone she’d thought was only for her. It was the same method Justin had used to convince her his tactic was best.

      She was going to put in for two weeks’ leave the minute she was back at headquarters. Mental health preventive. Because she had to be losing it. Right here, in the middle of what was supposed to be a routine apprehension.

      More gunfire and a cloud of what she assumed was tear gas poured from the crack under the door. Once again she tried to stare him down, make him flinch. “Can you run?”

      Rob nodded once, his hands still high.

      “Follow me.”

      She ran not away from the building, but toward it, and she sensed his hesitation, his desire to run in the opposite direction. When she held up the key she’d hid in her pocket and pointed at the ATV she was headed for, he followed.

      As they ran, the puppy loped alongside her. “Buddy, there’s no room at the inn. Go home!” She spoke under her breath as she ran, shooing away the too-cute creature. Robert Bristol needed a quick ride out of here, and she intended to keep them both alive while doing it.

      This was the craziest apprehension she’d ever had, especially since she wasn’t leaving with her target but a stranger her mind thought was Justin. And now a puppy was trying to join them. As if it were all some kind of fun escapade and not life-and-death circumstances. They came up to the first ATV and she faced the gaunt man, her Justin-come-to-life, ready to put her weapon on him again if she had to.

      “Raise your hands again.” She looked him in the eyes and faltered. Blinked. What the hell was wrong with her? Justin was dead. This man who looked like the one man she would have ever been willing to sacrifice everything for had to be a genetic anomaly. He couldn’t be Justin. Justin was dead. Killed—in action in a war-torn Middle Eastern country during a civil war—five years ago tomorrow. A date etched in her mind but seared on her heart. The part that had never healed.

      The eye that wasn’t swollen widened, and she ignored the screaming of her subconscious. So the doppelgänger had the same eye color.

      “Who are you?”

      He didn’t say anything. With СКАЧАТЬ